


Killer's Plaything

by BlueLight333



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-04-01 00:14:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13986333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueLight333/pseuds/BlueLight333





	Killer's Plaything

"Describe what happened next." Said the detective sitting across from me. Her breath was stained with coffee and cheap cigarettes, this had been a very long interrogation already.

"I... I fired, 3 shots I think, two center-mass and one head-shot." I replied quietly, my throat still hurt from screaming.

"That's some impressive shooting then, obstructed target, at least a hundred yards, the shaky hands of adrenaline. You have any training Mr. Jones?" The detective said leaning in, her tone sounding as though she just found Al Capone's tax papers.

I looked right at her, I should have been afraid, and a few short weeks ago I'm sure a mirrored room with a federal investigator would have terrified me. 

Now I just felt contempt.

"Look, maybe I have a gun range membership, maybe I play a lot of video games, can you tell me exactly how my shooting ability factors into your ability to investigate a hostage situation?" I replied leaning in myself, my handcuff chains rattling against the table corner.

She moved back a ways.

"I will decide relevance here Mr. Jones, now...-" |She began to say but I cut her off.

"Is he dead?" I asked almost frantically, the look on my face must have been no less than desperate.

"I'm really not at liberty to say..." She said hesitantly, clearly she wasn't expecting such zeal.

"Please, just tell me he's dead, I'll answer any dumb questions you have, just answer me that." I continued pleading. She was starting to look uncomfortable. 

Just as she was about to respond a uniformed cop came in carrying a rather thick file.

"Thank you officer." She said giving him a nod, he nodded back and left.

She opened it, her eyes getting wider as they darted left to right. She let out a long whistle.

"Mr. Jones, let's shelf that question and talk about your.... Almost incalculable criminal record, I mean, arson, assault, B&E, illegal possession of a firearm, and the list goes on!" She exclaimed with a light chuckle.

"That was all because of him you understand? He made me do all of that! Why are you digging into me for fuck's sake!? HE'S the one that held an entire building at gunpoint!" I screamed, my throat rewarding me with a sharp sting.

"You mean the man you shot, Dr. Red?" She replied with a raised eyebrow. I put my head in my palms, there was clearly no way to end this except cooperate.

"Fine, what the fuck do you wanna know?" I asked with a tired tone.

"Well why don't we start with your relationship to Mr. Red."

"I presume you don't mean the part of our relationship where we met in preschool and constantly got in trouble for eating the Play-Doh?" I asked, again, with a strong tone of contempt.

"The sooner you work with us Mr. Jones the sooner we can see about getting you out of here." She said folding her arms.

"Fine..." I sighed, how could I even begin to describe this mess?

\---------

It began about a month ago, I was walking home from work. The day was warm, but windy, spring had just come to bloom but winter wasn't done yet.

My ears were stuffed with my headphones, rendering me essentially deaf. 

That was however, until I felt a tap on my shoulder. 

I spun around, quickly pulling the headphones out of my ears. 

Before me stood a tall man, his bald head gleaming in the late afternoon sun, a dark grey suit expertly tailored to his frame was paired with a black shirt and a stark red tie, the gleam of his head was nothing though compared to his wide, unnaturally white smile.

"Can I help you?" I asked cautiously, fully prepared to be questioned on whether or not I had found Christ yet. 

"Oh come on now Sam! That's no way to greet an old desk buddy!" He exclaimed opening his arms out in a mock exasperated gesture. 

I took a second to narrow my eyes an more closely examine the man's face, sharp jaw and cheekbones, bright blue eyes, a nose that had clearly been broken some time ago. My mind started subtracting the years off his face until...

"James!? Christ man, how the Hell are you!?" I exclaimed sticking out my hand for a shake. He took my hand and firmly shook it, he maintained the same amount of smile... I began to wonder how his face didn't hurt.

"I'm great! What are you up to these days?" He asked sounding almost genuinely interested. 

"Heavy machinery, assembly, maintenance, that sort of deal, you?" I asked, curious to see what kind of job pays well enough for a man to get a suit like that.

"I'm a shrink now, I'm actually in town for a conference." He said, letting just a little too much smugness through in his voice. 

We now faced the inevitable awkward silence of two former classmates catching up, that was until he broke it. 

"You feel like a drink?" He asked.

"At all times" I replied with a chuckle.

On the way the conversation re-ignited, we talked about exes, mutual friends from school we were still in touch with, the typical, slightly forced conversation of two adults trying to keep the spark of dialogue alive until it can reach the warm hearth of alcohol. 

We managed to make it to the bar without any further awkward silences. The joint was of the sort that was both trendy and horribly old, as though someone stopped half-way through renovations.

We sat down across from each other and ordered our drinks, I noticed he ordered a plain iced tea, something I found strange as he had suggested the drinks.

Our conversation continued, getting more and more personal as I consumed more and more rum and cokes. 

Until he asked me a rather unexpected question.

"Does your life bore you?" He asked with a very cold, detached tone.

"What? No.... I mean... Sometimes but that's just life innit?" I said with a strong slur to my speech.

"Well I know mine bores me, the whining patients, the never ceasing drone of paperwork..." He said, visibly disgusted.

"That sucks dude." I replied with a loud belch.

"Perhaps we can help each other out." He said, his eyes reigniting. 

"Yeah? you wanna start a bowing team or something like that?" I asked enthusiastically.

I admit.. Looking back the expression of annoyed disbelief he gave me was entirely merited.

"No Sam... I do not want to start a bowling team with you, I meant maybe we can spice up each other's lives." He said leaning back in his chair, a devious, almost frightening smile on his lips.

"I mean... Sure, but how?" I asked, the alcohol now thoroughly soaked in my brain. He took a second to think before snapping his fingers.

"What kind of movies do you like Sam?" He asked leaning across the table as though he was sharing a dark secret.

"I love detective thrillers, but SHHHHHHH! Don't tell anyone!" I replied in a whisper that I'm pretty sure people in the next building over could hear.

"Excellent! Well imagine if was the bad guy in our own, real life detective thriller! you can be the detective! Like a big game of pretend!" He replied, visibly excited. I shrugged.

"Yeah sure why not." I said taking the hand he had extended and shaking it.

Right as I did that my next round of drinks arrived and I can no longer recall the night.

I recall waking up however, I was lying eagle spread out on the floor of my apartment, my eyes and head protesting furiously against the open curtain in front of me. 

With what little energy I could muster I stood and pulled the curtains shut, almost pulling them off the railing. 

Having a better look around I saw that something was attached to my bedpost. 

It was a note, neatly written with blue pen, on a bar branded napkin. it simply read;

**GAME ON.**

 

 


End file.
